


Of Princes and Pageboys (And Oranges)

by jusrecht



Category: Code Geass
Genre: Alternate Reality, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-14
Updated: 2008-04-14
Packaged: 2018-02-11 08:52:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2061807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jusrecht/pseuds/jusrecht
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What princes (and pageboys) are doing in their spare time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Princes and Pageboys (And Oranges)

 

**1\. Jeremiah**  
  
It was a beautiful morning, the sun brightly shining overhead and the air scented with the sweet fragrance of many flowers Spring had brought forth. Faint breeze whispered across the skin on his nape and streaked the dark manes of the beautiful mare in front of him. The birds contributed their share of twitters in the ongoing conversation in the open carriage as wheels rolled and marked their journey on cobblestone path.  
  
Marquess Jeremiah Gottwald was the proud son of a proud duke and despite the fine weather and even finer company, he didn’t appreciate where he was now. Sitting behind a brown horse, holding the reins to aforementioned horse, next to an Eleven pageboy. To be invited to enjoy the day with the Imperial Family was a great privilege – even if his purpose stopped at driving the carriage – but to sit next to an Eleven…  
  
Not to mention, the princes spoke to _him_ much more often than they did Jeremiah. This obviously disturbed his dignity to a serious extent.  
  
The carriage stumbled across an errant rock and Prince Clovis called out again – _be careful, Jeremiah_ – which seemed to be the only occasion when he would be addressed by the Third Prince. Jeremiah gritted his teeth. This must not be let continue. If he couldn’t even earn the slightest morsel of their attention without stumbling over a rock or something else equally irrelevant, there would be no chance for him to–  
  
The light humming sound made him whip his head quickly toward the source, which turned out to be the smiling Eleven sitting next to him. The marquess pursed his lips. He generally found their kind pathetic and completely unworthy of his attention, but for some reasons, this boy was irritating the hell out of him.  
  
Which didn’t mean that he couldn’t pretend. After all, if the Eleven was a favourite of Prince Lelouch vi Britannia…  
  
Jeremiah cleared his throat – and thus ceased the cheerful hum – and deigned himself to ask. “So, what do you usually do?”  
  
The Eleven _dared_ to look surprised – weren’t they trained to serve without showing an ounce of emotion? And then he dared to smile.   
  
“I am a servant of His Highness Prince Lelouch vi Britannia, Sire.” The answer was polite, but he was smiling nonetheless.  
  
Jeremiah bristled silently. Did this boy think he was stupid? Of course he knew _what_ he was. But then he noticed that Prince Lelouch was listening between their conversation and his own with his brothers, and was forced to suppress any urge to strangle the rude Eleven.  
  
“I mean your everyday duties,” he said through sheer exertion of patience.  
  
“Oh.” The boy had the grace to look faintly embarrassed. “Well, they are the usual, milord. I see to the prince’s daily needs and everything else which His Highness may wish of me.”  
  
Jeremiah suddenly wished that he hadn’t asked. Damn if that answer hadn’t just conjured the most wrong and inappropriate mental image in his head.  
  
It was going to be a long day.  
  
\-----  
  
  
 **2\. Clovis**  
  
“Don’t move.”  
  
A swish of the brush. A flicker of pale blue on the cuff, and then another on the crease of his shirt. Perfect.  
  
Clovis leant back slightly to assess his unfinished work, his eyes flickering between the canvas and the real version of its centerpiece. He frowned. There was something not quite right.  
  
But he decided to continue. Switch to a new brush and mix another blend of watercolours. He loved this particular hue – the warmest shade of light brown, and it would stretch across every expanse of visible skin between white shirt and earth-coloured pants. His siblings all maintained the same pallor on their skin. After painting each and every one of them to his heart content, it was a refreshing change to work on someone who was not as pale.  
  
Once more his brush danced across the canvas neatly. His heart flowed with each trace of paint it left behind, with each flick of his fingers, with each sigh, with each blink. It was a wonderful process, not unlike the birth of the blue firmament each day and the sun climbing to its highest throne as noontime approached – a process trapped forever in recurrence and yet never lacked variety. Always, there would be a difference, and he was there to enjoy every nuance these little diversities might offer.  
  
But there was still something not quite right. Clovis felt his frown deepen and put the brushes and palette away to observe the picture closely. The atmosphere was wrong. Peacefulness did not suit this particular painting. He needed something more, but what?  
  
“Lelouch, pass me my cup of tea.”  
  
“Ask one of the maids.”  
  
He frowned again, now at a much more discernible subject. His little brother was always so discourteous – he did not even bother to glance up from his laptop.   
  
“We dismiss them, remember?” the Third Prince said impatiently. There was no other way. He needed privacy to create a decent painting and a horde of maids lining around them were just a little too much.  
  
“Then get it yourself,” Lelouch scoffed, violet eyes glowering from behind dark fringes. They shifted away from him for a moment, to his right, and Clovis had just gotten himself a perfectly sadistic idea when a different voice interrupted the scheming process.  
  
“Your Highness, I will–“  
  
“I said don’t move, Suzaku,” he ordered, turning his attention back to his model, and sighed irritably. “Now you’re all messed up. Lie back down.”   
  
“Left hand under your head, the right one on your stomach, wait, your face is at the wrong angle, tilt it to the right a bit… ah yes. And your shirt, the position is all wrong.” Plan _Clovis of the Vengeance_ , commenced. “The last button should be unfastened. Both ends of your shirt are tweaked up a little… more, more, more, yes, that’s it. And your pants should be lower– oh, don’t be so modest. Just a little lower. And lower. Just a little more…”  
  
“But–“  
  
“Do as I say.” He did his best imitation of ‘The Wrath of the White Prince’ and watched the desired result took place with astonishing rapidity. Interesting.  
  
He once again took up his brush, pretending to continue painting while harvesting the reactions to his plan from the corner of his eyes. Jeremiah, being Jeremiah, remained a sullen shadow under a nearby tree despite what had just transpired and was content to nibble on oranges instead of looking at the ongoing activity and its implications. Lelouch, however, could barely focus on his laptop anymore, his eyes never straying far from his servant who was so sinfully sprawled on the carpet of green grass. Their elder brother was another matter entirely – he had a smile on his face, which might not say much if not for the fact that it would be best described as _handsomely predatory_.   
  
Try as he might, Clovis could not suppress his smirk.   
  
For the moment, life was good.  
  
\-----  
  
  
 **3\. Lelouch**  
  
There was more skin to be seen than strictly necessary – his mind couldn’t seem to move past that point. While he could tell at some degree that his brother was only having fun with him, things were unfortunately _not_ that simple.  
  
After all, Suzaku was a friend.  
  
A friend who helped to change his clothes. A friend who helped him to bathe. A friend who knelt in front of him and smiled and said, “Yes, Lelouch-sama.”  
  
A friend whom he hopelessly lusted after.   
  
Lelouch tried to tear his eyes away from the tempting view and back to his RTS game – he had North Africa to conquer, dear God – when his third brother suddenly spouted some more nonsense which only purpose was to make the friend he had fallen in lust with look even more scandalous than before. Suzaku, red-faced and mortified beyond words, was starting to protest and Lelouch was torn between vigorously supporting the protest and vigorously rebuffing it. Both had serious downfalls he would rather not see occur any time in near future – or preferably, at all.  
  
It was then when he realized that he had fallen into Clovis’s trap so smoothly and completely without a fuss. The mere idea of being played like a cheap, two-dollar banjo insulted his pride very much and God forbid that he allowed this transgression to continue.  
  
The clink of china distracted Lelouch from brewing his _Sleeping Dragon_ plan and he glanced at Schneizel who had closed his copy of ‘Il Principe’ and now was looking at him with half-lidded eyes, long fingers tapping the side of a white, flower-patterned cup.  
  
“Care to play a game, little brother?”  
  
It was a challenge, much more than what met the eye. Lelouch narrowed his eyes and closed his laptop with a definite snap. When he answered, it was with a casual smirk.  
  
“Yes, of course, Aniue.”  
  
\-----  
  
  
 **4\. Schneizel**  
  
“A most satisfying game, don’t you think?”  
  
“You cheated,” Lelouch accused hotly, voice bathed in denial and infinite disbelief. Not that losses were uncommon when he played this particular opponent. It was the state of his loss which was a little too hard to believe.  
  
“Do not resort to underhand tactics, Lelouch,” the Second Prince replied placidly, only a hint of distaste in his timbre to reprimand his brother. “My victory is as fair as it should be, and so is your loss. How can one cheat at chess anyway?”  
  
Oh, but one definitely could, he reflected in silent amusement as Lelouch’s face became steadily darker. And sometimes, one did not even have to begin the game to launch a deceitful tactic – particularly with the help of others whose criminal mind more or less matched his, he glanced at Clovis who was smiling oh-very-innocently. Keeping the opponent distracted right from the start never failed to yield a victory.  
  
The result? His little brother had lost spectacularly.   
  
Lelouch was still shooting deadly glares at the thoroughly blameless chessboard when Clovis began another set of instructions to his adolescent model. Schneizel allowed himself a glance. It was a good thing that he had sat facing away from the spot where the artistic – and possibly illicit – activity took place. Lelouch was young and his self-control left much to be desired, but the Second Prince was not unwilling to admit that the game certainly would not have been won so easily had he shared his brother’s predicament.  
  
Then again, Lelouch had signed his defeat the moment he chose to sit where he was. A very unwise decision, despite the perks it seemingly had.  
  
“Once,” Lelouch sounded like he had to drag the word out of his throat. “Only once. If I find out that you are taking advantage of my servant, things will get ugly between us.”  
  
“And now it’s a threat,” Schneizel said dryly. “Very unbecoming of you, little brother.”  
  
Lelouch only huffed and went back to his laptop. The elder prince reclaimed his reading material, but smiled ever so slightly when his eyes met a pair of green ones.  
  
Some victories were sweeter than others.  
  
\-----  
  
 **5\. Suzaku**  
  
A slight press on the shoulder blade with a thumb, followed by the rest of his fingers, with just enough pressure to work on knotted muscles. Not too hard, but never too weak either, or there would be no purpose to this. The oil was slick and warm, making pale skin glisten in the candlelit room as its scent filled his nostrils. He began to feel heady, but these series of movements were already too familiar for his hands to falter in their progress.  
  
An appreciative moan – a low, velvety sound that slithered on his skin like the word ‘seduction’. Suzaku tried to hold back a blush and failed entirely.   
  
“It smells good,” the same voice broke the silence as smoothly as the entrance of Spring breeze. “Cornelia brought it back from India as a gift, if I am not mistaken.”  
  
“The scented oil, Your Highness?” he asked carefully, using the base of his palm to make circular motions on the upper back.   
  
“Yes,” the reply was accompanied with another contented sigh. “It has many uses, don’t you think?”  
  
“I would imagine, Sir.”  
  
There was an amused chuckle muffled by embroidered pillows. “I do not think there is any need for you to imagine them, Suzaku-kun,” the prince said mildly. “A proper demonstration will serve its purpose better, yes?”  
  
The next few sequences happened faster than a blink of an eye. A hand climbed to his shoulder and pulled him down to lie flat on the bed, fine, silk sheets whispering against the fabric of his clothes. When he finally found his bearings, he already had a half-naked prince hovering on top of him, kissing the side of his neck.  
  
“This scent suits you well.”   
  
“Your Highness said that the last time too,” Suzaku struggled to make his voice sound at least less unsteady – and like every other effort to gain any semblance of self-control he tried around the Second Prince, it fell dead a fraction of a second later.  
  
“Did I?” the prince only looked faintly amused. “It was orange, wasn’t it?”  
  
“And the time before that,” Suzaku bit his lips when the older man’s hand worked on the column of buttons on his shirt, accidentally – or not – brushing the skin of his chest and then lower. “Rose and sandalwood.”  
  
“Because you are beautiful, Suzaku-kun, the scents cannot help but to follow your loveliness.” For reasons passing understanding, the words smoothly flowed without any hint of embarrassment whatsoever. How anyone could manage such achievement was beyond his comprehension.  
  
“I want to make love to you slowly, gently, until you can see no one else but me.” And there they were again, completely without consideration of their victim’s state. Suzaku was sure that his face was burning like the seventh depth of inferno, but the prince only smiled and leant down to capture his lips and proceeded to kiss him so thoroughly that a blush was nothing but justified.  
  
“I’m afraid we don’t have much time left,” he then said with a regretful sigh, a thumb idly stroking the lips he had just unreservedly debauched. “My brother is always jealously protective of you.”   
  
Suzaku could feel his heart rapidly sink into his stomach. His master would demand for his presence soon, to make preparations for the night. Sometimes he wondered… Suzaku closed his eyes. No, it wasn’t a question of loyalty. It was just his errant heart and the fact that he couldn’t do anything about it. His greatest weakness.  
  
“Although if I were to admit,” the prince suddenly said again, only the barest hint of so many emotions in his voice, “so am I.”  
  
He was really trying, but Suzaku couldn’t keep the smile off his lips. “I believe it’s quite unnecessary, Schneizel-sama,” he said in his demurest tone.  
  
“Indeed?” Two elegant eyebrows rose, but there was certain warmth in ice-blue eyes he couldn’t possibly miss. His fingers dug into the older man’s arms when a deep voice whispered in front of his ear. “Then what say you if we proceed and make good use of the oil before our time runs out?”  
  
“Until I can see no one else,” he murmured softly, the most he could do because his chest was threatened to explode. It earned him an affectionate smile from the prince.  
  
“I shall happily oblige.”

  
  
**_End_ **

 


End file.
